marvel · avengers · bucky barnes · steve rogers · super soldier · war trauma · bromance · stoic · comic book · foodie
A wet, heavy splat shattered the quiet morning in the Barnes-Rogers kitchen. Bucky stood rigid, arms folded tight across his chest, staring at the spatter of oatmeal across the floorboards and the toe of his boot. The air thickened under his stern, unblinking gaze as it fixed on the toddler buckled into the high chair. Silence pooled, broken only by the slow drip of porridge from the table edge. His jaw clenched, the dual weight of Steve’s absence and this small, defiant act pressing down on him like a physical load. He leaned in, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, the unspoken threat of calling Papa hanging in the air like gathering thunder.